It has been said that someone controls electric guitar. This is
clearly true, as electric guitar is incapable of controlling itself. In
the subjunctively titled It Might Get Loud, three controllers of
the electric guitar meet up in a big room to stare at each other and
learn about musicianship and what kind of hat to wear and how to
love.
Those three are Jack White of the White Stripes and the Raconteurs;
The Edge of U2; and Jimmy Page of Carter-Lewis and the Southerners,
Mickey Finn and the Blue Men, The Honeydrippers, and probably a couple
of other bands. In the movie, they each talk about their musical lives
and then trade some licks. Mostly, though, the film is about each of
them individually, sort of a 3-in-1 documentary about three very
different guitarists.
Jack White is, surprisingly, the most pretentious of the three. His
1890s country-gentlemen outfits and old-timey posturing are
tremendously affected, but still entertaining.
The Edge is so introverted, and—at least in the film—his
guitar-playing is so narrow, and his focus is so on the pedals and
effects, that he seems vaguely autistic. Still, it’s amusing watching
old film of him dressed up in an early ’80s shiny-white shoulder-padded
jacket with product-filled hair as he bangs out new wave.
By far, the most likable is Jimmy Page. His ceaseless, close-lipped
smile and obvious joy in the music set him apart. Jack White loves the
blues, and everything he does is aimed at capturing the blues spirit.
The Edge hated the pop music that was around in his youth, and
describes his musical direction in negative terms: getting away from
heavy metal, eschewing long solos, disdain for light pop, scorn for
humor and levity and cuteness. But Page simply loves music. “I have a
voracious appetite for everything,” he says, “all of it.”
The Edge, conversely, says that when he and U2 started, he “had a
clear idea of what we did not want to sound like.” When Jimmy Page puts
Link Wray on the turntable, he and Jack White smile and groove; The
Edge just seems pissed off. Where Page and White love the history of
music, The Edge seems vaguely uncomfortable with it. He talks about the
early days of punk and how that influenced him (which seems odd, since
U2 couldn’t sound less like The Buzzcocks or Sex Pistols). Now that
those days are history, Edge seems unsure of what to do about it.
Edge’s evocation of the punk spirit occasionally becomes
accidentally comic, as when he says, “I wept at Spinal Tap,”
because it captured everything he hated about the music scene of his
youth, “bands that looked down on their fans,” “self-indulgence” and
the rock-god attitude. So it’s no wonder he seems a little uptight when
he meets Jimmy Page, who was the ax-wielding war god of the Edge’s
enemy cult.
White’s attitude is even more louche: He claims he’s going to see
Page and Edge so he can steal their moves. Still, even in his mannered
way, White has a sense of self-parody. One of the best sequences of the
film has him driving a 1950s General Motors car with a 9-year-old
dressed exactly like him in the back seat. The 9-year-old, according to
the onscreen caption, is the young Jack White, somehow teleported into
the future (or maybe the older White has been teleported into the past)
to learn the secrets of electric guitar from his coming self.
While The Edge hates and White poses, Page just revels in music. His
face continually lights up as he spins old discs; his 64-year-old body
slides into recurring boogie mode; and he shakes and grooves with his
guitar like he was still the lean young man in Led Zeppelin. Most
importantly, though, is this intense aura of love that he radiates. He
seems genuinely glad to meet the other guitarists, more than willing to
share with them and completely humble in learning from them.
When they all jam together at the end, it’s Page who asks questions
of the others on proper technique, even though he’s shown himself to be
the superior technician. While White gets an awesome rumble on his
ratty equipment, and Edge fine-tunes the effects box to nanometer-level
tolerance, Page can make sudden dynamic shifts, whip out intricate
licks and switch from guitar to bass to mandolin with the nonchalance
of a musical Zen master.
I walked into It Might Get Loud a fan of the White Stripes,
but I walked out amazed by Page. My friend Soyeon told me she had no
interest in electric guitar, so I took her to the film as a test
subject. Afterward, she said that she really liked it and that she
wanted to hug Jimmy Page. I could see that. I think the whole world
would be a better place if we all got hugged by Jimmy Page.
This article appears in Sep 24-30, 2009.
After reading this writer’s ignorant, mean-spirited, and artless review of the exquisite Townes Van Zandt biopic “Be Here to Love Me”, I am amazed that anyone in the world- with the possible exception of his family and friends- would care what he has to say in a review.
By the way, Mr. DiGiovanna: Robert Plant, who used to play with Jimmy Page – in case you did not know- covered Townes Van Zandt, the “mediocre talent” as you put it, on the Grammy winning “Raising Sand” with a remarkable version of “Nothin'”.
I get that, occasionally, you are asked to review something in an area that is either foreign or not in your area of taste, and I would hate to be put in that situation. But you would be the bigger person to rise above it and try to understand WHY people are drawn to the subject rather than just cut it down out of ignorance. You are the one given the priveledge to express your views as a “critic”. You should use it responsibly.
Yes, I agree with Hermes’ comment. This film and its reviewer were poorly matched. Jack White is one of the least pretentious people in music I can think of; James seems incapable of separating his clothing from his being. He talked all through the film about his love of music, about wanting to keep it simple, keep it clean, about how excited he was to take every step. Jack is completely dedicated to keeping it real, and avoiding the pitfalls of stardom. I went in loving him, I came out respecting him. The feeling, the emotion, when he played us Son House, was clearly at the core of his being as a musician. This film was about Jack White; and I came out of it with a deeper understanding of what made him tick. I could see him, as a kid, one of ten, in his tiny room with two drum sets, and no bed, see what kind of personal strength and focus it took to be true to his vision growing up the way that he did, where he did. I saw someone utterly clear on the simplicity of his vision, making every song and every action to honor and riff on what he saw as the center, the core of musical expression.
I went into the film ambivalent about the Edge; U2 is a good band, but a little to slick and megastadium for me. I came out of the film feeling much the same way about U2, but captivated with the simple, kind, and humble man on guitar who realizes with absolute clarity that his life could have gone any which way, that it was a stroke of incredible luck for him to be in that band at that time. He makes no secret about the fact that his playing is simple and his fascination is for the sounds that come from the equipment; he is not Richard Thompson or Jimmy Page, but he’s interesting, he works hard at his music, and he seems like a very real person. He’s not demonstrative, but you could see that he’s deep. I loved the look on his face when Page started to play a Zeppelin riff. How anyone could watch this film and come out calling Edge a “hater” is beyond me.
It seems like once again James has gone into a film not grasping the basic concepts any more than his friend, whose most perceptive comment was that she wanted to “hug Jimmy Page.” Christ. Page, I point out, was also dressed in his habitual costume of long frock coat and frilled sleeves. He’s always done this. I guess it’s only pretentious if you’re Jack White?
Is there any point to even reading the Weekly movie reviews anymore?
What a piece of crap.